Chapter 50
Raye stared at the drawing for another jolting moment, while a distant thunder rose in her ears.
Sybil had sent a portrait of herself. A naked portrait of herself. To Kalfr. To Raye’s Kalfr.
“What,” she said, “the fuck is this.”
Her other hand kept desperately gripping Gaelfr’s, and her eyes swept over every detail of the portrait.
It was drawn in a far different style than the one Gaelfr had been sent — the portrait drawn by Daisy, the artist from the mountain — and despite the strategic placements of Sybil’s arms over several crucial areas, it was clearly intended to showcase her appeal, her seductiveness, her beauty.
And, Raye could admit, Sybil was beautiful. With her long, silken dark hair, her slim but still voluptuous body, her large, long-lashed, come-hither eyes. All of it offering a clear invitation to the viewer, and saying…
“Is this supposed to be an offer, then?” Raye demanded toward Kalfr, as the portrait began violently shaking in her hand. “Instead of attacking you and killing you, now she wants to — to —”
Kalfr rubbed at his eyes, and shook his head. “It is all more of the same,” he replied, without inflection. “I am sure she yet aims for my death. This is only another means to taunt and provoke me, and gain this.”
His hand crumpled the letter he was still holding, and Raye dropped the portrait, and snatched for the letter instead.
While Gaelfr’s fingers clamped tighter against her other hand, and when Raye darted a look toward him, she remembered — right.
He still couldn’t read common-tongue. Maybe he still didn’t even know what the letter said.
So she cleared her throat, and began reading it out loud.
“My dearest Kalfr. I remain beset by offers of conciliation which I can only presume are at your behest. However, if you truly want me to reconsider my regiment’s march toward you, you will prove yourself the brave warrior I thought you to be, and come and meet me face to face.
You will offer your humblest apologies for your grave sins toward me.
You will voluntarily submit to my custody and service.
And if you show yourself worthy of my clemency, I may even consider granting you what we both know you still desire from me. With affection, Sybil.”
By the end of it, Raye was spitting out every word, and she fought the urge to tear up the letter, or hurl it across the room. And beside her, Gaelfr had begun growling again, his low rumble a strangely soothing steadiness in her otherwise shrieking thoughts.
“No,” Gaelfr hissed. “You will not, Kalfr. We will not. Never.”
But Kalfr didn’t look like he’d even heard Gaelfr speaking, and his blank eyes flicked toward the window. Toward… Svein. As if he was truly considering this, for Svein, and he couldn’t, he couldn’t —
“Ach, but this woman is fetching, is she not?” cut in a voice — Skirvir’s voice — and when Raye glared toward him, she found him now holding the portrait she’d dropped, and eyeing it with obvious appreciation.
“And she bears a sweet scent beneath this rank reek of perfume. Could you not send one of us to meet her in your place?”
Gaelfr’s growl burned louder, while across from Skirvir, Fengr swiped for the portrait, snapped it into a ball, and hurled it with surprising accuracy into the nearby crackling fire.
“Ach, Skirvir, this woman is sure to take one look at you, and choose you over him,” he drawled, jerking his head toward Kalfr.
“Also, did you not meet her, nor scent her, whilst she was at the mountain? Kalfr is right. This is just the kind of ploy she would pursue, if she wanted to draw him out, and then take her good time cutting him to ribbons.”
Raye grimaced, as a new unpleasant awareness prickled through her thoughts. Had all these orcs met Sybil, when she’d come to the mountain? Had Kalfr introduced her to them? Had they all seen Kalfr touching her, or taking her on the altar, or…
“But isn’t Sybil supposed to be linked to Lord Nash?” Raye demanded, over that alarming thought. “If nothing else, surely he wouldn’t want his collaborators — let alone his favoured mistress — sending an offer like this to an orc? Let alone — suggestive portraits, which might be seen by anyone?!”
She shot a rapid look toward the fire, toward where — thank the goddess — the portrait had already curled to ash in the crackling flames. Though Skirvir was still frowning petulantly toward it, while on Kalfr’s other side, Rurik shrugged, and made a noncommittal noise in his throat.
“I have had a few run-ins with Lord Nash, in the north,” he replied. “I should not be at all surprised if he goaded her to this, or thought it some uproarious jest. He sees orcs as less than animals, and by all accounts, he is not much kinder to his women, either.”
It all churned miserably in Raye’s gut — damn it, she did not want to feel sorry for this horrible Sybil. This enemy who had brought Kalfr such grief, and tried to murder him. And who was still trying to murder him, now with some extra taunting or humiliation attached.
“I’ve also dealt with Nash a fair bit, during my own time in the north,” Aulis added, “and that sounds about right to me, too. And even if Nash wasn’t already aware Sybil was doing this, she’s probably using his funds, and I know the clan has also sent him multiple requests and letters, without reply.
It’s safe to say we can’t risk trusting either of them, yeah? ”
He aimed that last part toward Kalfr, who was still gazing blankly out the window — but then Kalfr shook himself, and squared his shoulders.
“Ach, no,” he replied, his voice curt. “This alters none of our goals. We must keep guarding and strengthening this byrgi, and readying ourselves to keep our band safe. And we must keep learning together, and upholding each other, also.”
Raye exhaled with relief, and nodded. But when she glanced toward Gaelfr, he still looked grim and furious, and his narrow eyes flicked toward the window, to where Kalfr had been looking.
As if he might be questioning Kalfr’s resolve on this, too.
As if he feared that Kalfr might still sacrifice himself for this, for Svein.
Even if that meant walking straight toward his death, and toward…
The image of Sybil’s beautiful naked body burned behind Raye’s eyes again, and she gritted her teeth, dragged down a deep breath. Kalfr wouldn’t. Not after last night. Not after they’d come so far. Right?
“Now, let us enjoy the good breakfast Grum has made us, so we can begin our work for the day,” Kalfr said, his voice clipped.
“And should you wish to stay, brothers” — he nodded toward Olarr and Aulis — “we should be most honoured to have you and your younglings amongst us, for as long as you please. We have also begun common-tongue reading lessons, and I am sure Julian shall not mind adding your younglings into these, ach, Julian?”
It was a deft series of redirections, and soon the room was full of chatter again, especially once they’d called the children back in, and settled down for breakfast together.
Beside Raye, Kalfr was already discussing their latest byrgi improvement plans with Olarr and Aulis, and though Raye did her best to join in, she couldn’t help noticing that Kalfr’s jaw was still clenched tight, and his smiles didn’t reach his eyes.
While on Raye’s other side, Gaelfr remained sullenly silent throughout the entire meal, and — for perhaps the first time since they’d met — he didn’t even urge Raye to have a second helping, either.
Once they finished eating, it turned out that Soren and William wanted as much help as possible with digging the new exit, since Fengr — who was apparently also adept at weather patterns — had predicted heavy rains for the following day.
And when Kalfr shot a questioning glance at Raye, surely thinking of their morning survey, she pasted on a smile, and waved him toward where a quilt-clad Soren already was impatiently waiting by the door, glowering at them through the slits.
“I can handle the survey this morning, I’m sure,” she told Kalfr. “The safety preparations are the most important thing, aren’t they?”
Again, there was undeniable tension in Kalfr’s answering smile, but he thanked her before heading off with the other orcs — minus Gaelfr and Egil and Skirvir, who, at both Kalfr and Svein’s insistence, were still committed to finishing the morning’s reading lesson first.
So Raye headed out for the survey alone, checking the byrgi’s status, monitoring for any changes overnight, following up on any priorities from the day before.
And she again ended up at the altar, which — she couldn’t help noticing — was now painted with more distinct streaks of white, covering more of the dark bloodstains beneath it.
The sight drew up visions of the night before, of Kalfr lit up and gasping in the moonlight, answering Raye’s call to grant them a son.
And she clung to that image, that hope, as she climbed up to kneel on the altar, and begged for the goddess’ help, her safety.
“Please, goddess,” she whispered, her hand over her heart.
“Please guide us through this. Please keep Svein safe, and Kalfr and Gaelfr, too. Please.”
And despite everything, it helped. Enough to deepen Raye’s breaths, to slow her rapid heartbeat. They could still do this.
When she returned to the byrgi, Julian was still teaching his lesson, so she headed past them up to the loft, and her weaving.
And though Svein seemed engrossed in the lesson, Gaelfr’s look toward her was flat and sullen, and strangely assessing, too.
And once the lesson was finished, and the children had raced back outside together, Raye wasn’t surprised to hear his heavy bootsteps thumping up the stairs toward her.
“How did your lesson go?” Raye asked, with an attempt at a smile, as Gaelfr heavily sank down onto her extra stool. “Is everything all right?”