Chapter 25
Raye should have been furious. She should have demanded how the hell Kalfr had dragged her into this mess. How he’d apparently put her and his own son at risk, and hadn’t even had the decency to warn them in advance.
But even as the words surged in her throat, she glanced at Svein’s intent watching face, and clamped her mouth shut. No. She wouldn’t jump to conclusions this time. She’d promised to atone, and to learn. She would wait, and listen, and then —
“Son, we need to speak alone with Kalfr upon this,” cut in Gaelfr’s firm voice. “Is there aught you can do for a spell, whilst we discuss this?”
Svein instantly protested, but Raye was grateful when Gaelfr held his ground, and Kalfr gestured at a nearby shelf.
It held several books, and Gaelfr ushered Svein toward it, helped him choose one of the books — a sequel to the Orc Mountain book, apparently — and safely deposited him in the back bedroom, with the door tightly closed.
“Now, ástin mín,” Gaelfr said as he sank back down onto the bench, close beside Kalfr this time. “How has this come about?”
His voice was light, and his arm settled around Kalfr’s hunched shoulders, and gave him a companionable shake.
But from across the table, Raye didn’t miss the tightness on Gaelfr’s mouth, or the hardness in his eyes.
Suggesting that he hadn’t known any of this, and he wasn’t pleased about it, either.
Kalfr didn’t immediately reply, and his shoulders rose and fell beneath Gaelfr’s arm, his eyes squeezing shut. And his face still looked hollow, haggard, broken with something like regret. Like grief.
“Come, then,” Gaelfr said, softer, this time with a gentle squeeze to Kalfr’s shoulder. “I can scent you, ástin mín. Speak this to us, and we shall help you, and face it together. As kin.”
Kalfr grimaced, and glanced up toward Raye — suggesting, surely, that he expected no such help from her. And she again fought down her retort, or perhaps her shame, while Gaelfr angled her a look too, heavy with unspoken warning.
“Our mate will honour this, also,” he said firmly. “She only wishes the best for you. Ach, saeta?”
Our mate again. And saeta. The words snapped Kalfr’s narrow eyes toward Gaelfr, while Raye dragged in a fortifying breath, and squared her shoulders. “Yes, that’s true,” she said, as steadily as she could. “I vowed to do my best to make amends to you, Kalfr, and I… I meant it.”
Gaelfr nodded with curt approval toward her, while Kalfr’s mouth slightly crumpled, his hand rubbing at his face. And when Gaelfr drew him closer into his side, Kalfr didn’t fight it, and took a deep, ragged breath.
“It was… the woman,” he replied, hoarse, toward the table. “The one you saw in the drawing. Sybil.”
Raye’s eyes met Gaelfr’s — they finally had a name, and it swayed oddly in Raye’s chest. Kalfr and Sybil. Sybil.
“And how,” Gaelfr said, very steady, though Raye could see the danger flashing in his eyes. “How did this Sybil come to this? To you?”
Kalfr scrubbed his hand at his face, sharp enough that his claw cut a thin scrape down his cheek. “It was… a plot,” he replied. “A scheme. She was part of a secret attack against our mountain, driven by the Council in the north, and most of all by its leader, Lord Nash.”
An attack, on Orc Mountain? From the Council? And Lord Nash? But yes, Lord Nash’s name had been on that letter those awful mercenaries had shown Raye. And maybe Gaelfr remembered that too, because his eyes again met hers, his jaw clenched in his cheek.
“And what was this attack, ástin mín?” he asked, his steady voice still at bizarre odds with the look on his face. “And how was this Sybil part of it?”
Kalfr took another deep breath, let it out.
“The attack was… women,” he said. “They sent multiple women to us, posing as seeking orc mates. But their true aim” — he huffed a choked laugh — “was to gain our trust, and thus gain entry to our mountain. And then, to wield deadly poisons to kill us all.”
A cold chill flashed up Raye’s back. The Council had sent women to lead this attack? Women who would pretend to mate with orcs, and then murder them?
“But… what about the peace-treaty?” Raye demanded. “And the mating-bonds? Did the women know they would miss you forever, even if they tried to kill you?!”
She belatedly winced, because she wasn’t supposed to say that miss you forever part, and Kalfr gazed toward her, his eyes empty in his haggard face.
“I told you,” he said flatly, “these men hate and fear us. They will do all they can to destroy us, and they will gladly use any means to do this. And by using these women, the blame for these deaths would not fall on the Council, or Lord Nash. They could call our deaths a sad misfortune, and claim they had honoured the treaty, the entire time.”
Gaelfr muttered something that might have been a curse, but his hand began steadily stroking Kalfr’s arm, smoothing up and down.
“So how were you brought into this, then?” he asked, his expression grim, as if he might have already known.
“Were you sent to meet this Sybil? To waylay her, or defeat her, mayhap?”
Kalfr’s mouth twisted, and he again rubbed his hand at his face. “We needed more time to counter this attack,” he replied. “The captain asked for orcs willing to play-act as these women’s mates for a short time, whilst the mountain built a plan. So I… offered my help.”
A choked noise growled from Gaelfr’s mouth, and in a jerky movement, he leapt to his feet, clutching his hand to his side, to where his sword hilt usually would have been.
“You offered this?” he hissed, as he stalked across the room, and spun around again.
“You offered to play-act as this woman’s mate?
Enough to bed her, and cover yourself with her scent? !”
He sounded incredulous, furious, and Raye was sure he would be shouting, if not for Svein in the next room. “Why would you do this,” he snarled, pacing back toward them. “You swore a vow to her. To me!”
He flailed his hand toward Raye, toward himself, while Kalfr’s body wilted inwards, his face even more drawn and haggard than before.
“You left, Gael,” he said, his voice harsh.
“And she” — his claws flicked toward Raye — “refused to speak to me, or even see my face. And once I finally accepted the truth of this, I…”
His eyes dropped to the table, his shoulders rising and falling.
“I swore to the goddess I would make amends,” he finished, with a sigh.
“I had lost my own precious Bautul son, so” — his throat convulsed — “I swore that I would uphold and save the others. I would defend the kin I had left. I would do all within my power to defeat our enemies, and to make our clan safe for our sons. No matter the cost.”
No matter the cost. It struck too close in Raye’s chest, dark and powerful and far too familiar. Yet another unbreakable vow to the goddess, another vow perhaps too heavy to ever be fulfilled…
Across the room, Gaelfr muttered another furious curse, and kept pacing back and forth. While Raye blinked across the table at Kalfr, and forced herself to search his empty, exhausted eyes, to seek the truth in what he’d just said. All within my power, no matter the cost…
“What… what did that vow mean for you, exactly?” she asked, her voice small. “What else did you do?”
Kalfr’s eyes closed, and he twitched a dismissive shrug.
“The byrgis were part of this,” he said, still without looking at her.
“And all my studies around this, learning more of our clan’s history, and all the skills and customs we have lost. But” — he shrugged again — “I also offered my help to the clan, wherever this was needed. I hunted game each day. I embraced plants and gardens and cookery. I helped the mountain make a new school and nursery. I watched and judged those who wished to be our leaders, and upheld the wisest amongst them. I supported rules and laws to protect the weakest amongst us, and helped address any amongst us who had brought our kin harm. And whenever warriors or scouts were needed, I offered my help in this, also.”
There was an instant’s silence, broken only by Gaelfr’s continued pacing across the room, and his short laugh. “I am not surprised you pursued all this,” he snapped, “and I would gladly commend you — but for this play-acting as an enemy woman’s mate! You could not have found another to do this?”
Kalfr grimaced, and his eyes blinked open, gazing empty down toward the table.
“I could have,” he replied. “But I did not wish to force another brother to this in my stead. And since I yet had two strong Bautul bonds” — his hand tiredly waved between Raye and Gaelfr — “we all thought this would be… safer, with me.”
Safer. Raye wasn’t following again, but Gaelfr snorted, and jabbed his claw toward Kalfr. “You did not,” he breathed, “build a bond with this foul woman! Did you?”
That might have been genuine alarm now, flickering through Gaelfr’s eyes — and then relief, when Kalfr shook his head.
“No, I did not,” Kalfr said. “The Ka-esh — the scholars in our mountain — were right upon this. It takes more time and effort to build a bond when you already have one. And already having two makes this even harder, most of all for a Bautul, and” — his eyes closed again — “when the orc is yet nursing the bonds, they said, and grieving them. As much as I sought not to do this.”
Oh. So Kalfr really had missed both Raye and Gaelfr that deeply, that he hadn’t been able to move on, or build a bond with this new woman. And Raye couldn’t hide her relieved exhale, or her brief exchanged glance with Gaelfr, still pacing back and forth across the room.
“And what then?” Gaelfr demanded. “After you agreed to this scheme?”
Kalfr drew in another heavy breath, and his hands folded tightly together on the table. “I went out and met Sybil,” he said dully, “and did what was asked of me. But it was not…”