Honor Among Orcs (Orc Saga) (33 page)

“When must I go?”

“Thrudgelmir pitied me.” Bolthorn stroked her hair, his breath tickling her cheek. “We have until the moon sets.”

“And then?”

He sighed against the bare skin of her shoulder and his lips followed, sending warmth down her spine. “If they have not realized their foolishness before your stomach swells, we will go. I see now that I can promise you nothing more.”

He made love to her with patient urgency, refusing to be hurried no matter how she begged. His hands alone brought her to perfection, and then his mouth and tongue, a second time, until her lips could not even form his name. Only then did he join with her, moving as slowly and carefully as he had that first night, though she was slick and ready. Her nails cut into his skin in her need to draw him closer, deeper, but he only bit her back with his teeth and tusks at the curve of her shoulder, and the world unraveled around her, too bright with pleasure to notice the sting where he had broken her skin. He matched her with his own groan of release, and the comfort of his weight over her body, pressing her into the soft bed.

She held him firm when he moved as if to rise, wrapping her legs more tightly around his hips to keep him inside her. He stroked her hair from her face, holding himself so he would not crush her, and then he pressed his lips to the mark beneath her jaw so lightly she shivered beneath him.

“When next we look upon each other, it will be in sunlight,” he murmured against her throat. “And when the sun rises for the first time, and you stand before my mother’s door to greet it with joy, know that is how I feel to look at you.”

Perhaps it would be tolerable, this time they spent apart, if she thought of it only as one long night, without counting any of the hours it spanned. But the darkness of the sky would not last long, and she feared Vanadis would linger until after it had faded into the first true dawn.

Let the sun burn away the shadows of fear
, she prayed. Perhaps in its light, the Hrimthursar elders would see more clearly. Perhaps they would know then she was not their enemy, but their friend. Even if Bolthorn’s people could not accept her as their Gythja, if they accepted her only as Hrimthursar, as his wife, it would be enough.

If only Vanadis would leave and take her lies with her, they could find happiness together here. And no matter what Bolthorn said, he would not be happy if he left his people. Perhaps if things had been different, if they had moved on, thinking he was dead. But this way, with the Vala whispering in their ears— she had not helped him to kill her father only to let Vanadis do even more harm. They could not leave the Hrimthursar to the Vala.

Arianna would not let him, even if Bolthorn tried.

The fire had burned to white and red embers when Eistla came for his wife. Arianna dressed silently, her expression difficult to read. But he felt her grief, thick as his own, and when he saw the way her fingers trembled, fumbling the leather lacing of her bodice, he stilled her hands with his own and laced it for her.

“It will not be for long,” she said, though he thought she spoke to reassure her own mind more than his. “And I will not be far. In Eistla’s hut, only. It is not as though I will be trapped in a dungeon with hungry rats, or even a dank cell behind a mirror.”

He snorted, tightening the laces only enough to keep the material in place. Her waist had not yet begun to thicken with the child she carried, but he would not hamper its growth, even so. “It is too cold for rats this far north.”

“It’s too cold for humans this far north,” she said, turning when he had finished tying the bodice. She burrowed into his arms and he tucked her head beneath his chin. “I will miss your warmth.”

He kissed the top of her head and forced himself to keep his tone light. “But not the frost of my skin when I come in from the cold.”

Arianna laughed, but the sound was so miserable his heart ached. “I will miss even the bite of rime. But it will not be for long.”

“No,” he agreed as she pulled back. He would not make this any harder than it already was. For either of them. “It will not be for long. And you will know I am with you with every beat of my heart beside yours.”

Her lips curved, though it was not quite a smile. “As will you.”

There was another knock on the door, and Bolthorn grunted. “Come!”

Eistla pushed it open, her face grave. “It is time, daughter.”

Arianna took a deep breath and settled the cloak about her shoulders. Bolthorn stroked her cheek, just once more, and pulled the hood up over her head before tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear.

She touched her fingers to his throat, to the mark that bound them, husband and wife, and he saw her eyes focus on it, suddenly bright with a fierce joy that blazed in his chest. He caught her wrist before she dropped her hand, but she only smiled. A true smile, half-hidden in the shadow of her cloak, but still brilliant with mischief and warmth. Had he ever seen her smile in such a way? Perhaps once, while they had been hidden in Fossegrim’s burrow. She had been teasing the old elf about his strangeness. But now?

“Princess?”

“Bolthorn, we must go,” Eistla said.

“You’ll know soon, I think.” She rose on her toes, kissing him softly. “I love you.”

And then his wife was gone and his mother with her, and but for the hope of her smile, Bolthorn had never felt a greater sorrow.

Eistla’s hut had two rooms. The largest was not unlike Bolthorn’s. Woven mats waited beside the door for visitors, and stools were set around the central hearth. The bed against the farthest wall was not so grand as the Gothi’s, but it was still finely made, and the stone chest at its foot held no drawers.

The second room held only a bed and a chest, and not much room for more, though another hearth had been built into the wall to keep it warm, blackrock and dry turf stored neatly nearby. Eistla gestured to the bed. “This will be your room, while you stay with me.”

Arianna glanced at her sidelong. “I would not turn the Gythja from her bed.”

But Bolthorn’s mother shook her head. “That honor should be yours now and were you born orc, it would be already. I have only held it in trust for my son’s wife.”

“How is it that you see what the others do not?” she asked.

“I trust my sons, Princess,” Eistla said. “Bolvarr believed your bond with Bolthorn was true, that you were brave and honorable, and Bolthorn has gone to a great deal of trouble to bring you home.”

She dropped her gaze, pretending interest in the bed furs. “Too much, I fear.”

“And if the council is not satisfied by this test, what will you do?”

Arianna pressed her lips together, then lifted her eyes, meeting the Gythja’s. “I will do what I must for Bolthorn, for the Hrimthursar. It is why I came this far—to stop a war, to save Bolthorn and his people from my own.”

Eistla smiled. “Then it is no wonder that the Ancestors brought you to my son.”

The bed Eistla had given her was comfortable, and she slept deeply the first night in spite of Bolthorn’s absence. Her body was still warm from his touch, and since she had not slept in his arms after their lovemaking, desperate not to lose what little time they had left, she was too exhausted to do more than curl up beneath the furs. Perhaps that had been his purpose, in part, and if so, she wondered if his mother would reassure him of his success.

But the small room was not just to honor her, Arianna realized the next day. As Gythja, Eistla had many visitors, and her strange guardianship of Arianna did not stop the Hrimthursar from coming to her for healing or guidance. Arianna was forbidden to speak with them by the council’s orders, and to be sure no one could accuse her of bewitchment, she remained in her room while they met with Eistla, busying herself with mending. It did not help to keep her from thinking of Bolthorn while her fingers worked.

She remembered too well the days they had spent with Fossegrim, sunlight streaming through the window over Bolthorn’s shoulder, while he held her in his lap, his hand warm on her thigh even through her skirts. Bolthorn’s heartbeat seemed to jump in her chest as she dwelled in the memory, distracting her, and she pricked her finger with the needle hard enough that the images slipped away. Setting the mending aside, she closed her eyes and listened, but his heartbeat calmed as quickly as it had sped, and she felt nothing from him but the love that always bound them mixed with a pang of grief.

At least they had this, she thought. At least she knew he lived and breathed, safe and well. And perhaps there was more yet, that they might share without the council’s knowledge. She had almost forgotten how she had heard his voice while the Vid-Gythja marked them, though she still did not know how they had managed it. She did not dare try to reach across the thread of their bond during the day, when she might distract him while he met with the elders, but later, perhaps, when they both might be in bed. Even when she had believed him dead, she had heard him best then, on the verge of sleep…

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

It was a long day, and returning to his hut to find Hyndla at his hearth did not make it any better. He hesitated at the threshold, but by now she had felt the cold air, and he had nowhere else to go, besides. Not that he did not wish to speak with her, to share the frustrations of his day with a friendly ear, as he had done so many times in the past. Hyndla had always listened well, turning his irritation with the elders into laughter. But the easiness of their friendship was gone now, and as long as she looked on Arianna with such scorn, he did not think there was any hope to reclaim it. Even if, by the grace of the Ancestors, he convinced her he was fit to lead. That was why she was here, he realized belatedly. To bear witness.

Bolthorn stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Now that he no longer stood in the wind, he could smell stew. Somehow, he had forgotten this part of his mother’s plan. He only hoped that Arianna had, also. “My thanks, Hyndla.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, but did not turn. “It is my mother’s doing, not mine.”

“All the same.” He gathered two stools, bringing them to the hearth, that they might sit together. “Will you share the meal?”

Her lip curled. “You think I do not know what my mother means by this?”

“We were friends, once.” But they both knew. Sending Hyndla with a meal showed her family’s support, that they still honored him as Gothi and sought his counsel. That she still honored him as Gothi.

“That was before you made a witch your wife.” But she did not leave, only banged her spoon against the side of the cook pot and covered it with a clay lid. “She is not even beautiful. Just some mouse of a woman who cannot survive the cold. What kind of children do you think she will bear you, Bolthorn? None would welcome such tainted blood.”

He clenched his jaw to keep from arguing, or worse, answering. She did not want to hear him say Arianna’s children would be brave and strong. Nor would she stand it if he defended Arianna’s beauty and warmth.

“Could you not at least have found an elf? There is no grace in this, Bolthorn. No redemption. Nothing but weakness and trouble. You shame the Hrimthursar.”

He grunted. “How is she weak and worthless, yet powerful enough to bewitch me?”

Hyndla bared her tusks. “She is
human
!”

“The elves speak of us with the same scorn, Hyndla,” he said softly.

“For good reason!” She opened her arms. “Look at us. Look at what we have become, when we might have been so much more. Beautiful and shining!”

“We shine still, in the winter.”

She sneered again. “Coated with ice and so cold it burns even Elvish skin.”

“We will never be elves, Hyndla. How many generations have we tried? Even those with the purest blood still bear orcs as bruised with green and blue and grey as you or me. We are not meant to be elves, but as long as we yearn for it, we will do as they ask of us, serve them unthinking of the cost.”

“You speak of them as though they keep us as slaves.”

“Not yet.” Bolthorn leaned forward, willing her to listen. “But you have seen Vanadis’s way. Arianna threatens her influence, fights her will, and now that she cannot control her, she threatens her in turn. Bolvarr told you what Vanadis planned for Gautar, how can you not wonder what she plans for us when it is done?”

“Vanadis has always served the orcs.”

“Vanadis has always served herself.”

Her eyes narrowed. “These are your wife’s lies. Her words, to turn you from us.”

“Fossegrim thinks the same. He has always spoken against her, though we did not wish to hear it. It is only in how she has treated my wife that I have come to see what he has.”

“So you say.”

“So I know. And you do as well. Think of it, Hyndla. Think what it means that she ignores our customs when they do not suit her needs. And if I had not come back after Vanadis promised I would find success, would you be so quick to defend her?”

Hyndla flushed a brighter green and turned her face away. “Perhaps it would have been easier to think you had died than to know you chose someone so feeble to stand as Gythja at your side.”

He pressed his lips together, trying to ignore the cut of her words. But she had bitten too deeply, grazing his honor as well as his heart. “Perhaps it would have been easier to die than to return to my people and find them so changed. I spoke so highly of my people, promised Arianna she would have freedom and peace among them, assured her we were nothing like her own. But there is no honor left among the Hrimthursar, and even those who I loved have shamed me.”

“Then there is no reason for me to stay.” Hyndla rose from the stool, then hesitated. “If this is truly how you feel, Bolthorn, the council is right to choose another Gothi.”

He half rose, reaching for her. “Hyndla—”

She spun, her eyes flashing green fire. “It’s you who has changed, Gothi. Not us.”

That night, he ate alone. His stomach was sour and the stew was bitter.

Had he changed so much? Bolthorn lay in his bed, missing Arianna’s softness and warmth. Even listening to her heartbeat did not bring him comfort. Was it this change in himself, which Hyndla saw, that the elders took for bewitchment? He had seen much, that was true. Cruelty greater than any orc had known since Sinmarra. He had killed with his bare hands in defense of his life and Arianna’s, in defense of his people, and Gunnar’s blood was a stain that would not wash clean, he knew. But he could not have left the king alive and lived himself to warn his people. With Vanadis’s assurances of peace, the Hrimthursar would never have been prepared for the war Gunnar might have brought.

Or had the Vala meant to warn them only after Bolthorn’s death? To deliver the news of his loss as she had Bolvarr’s, and use it to see that the orcs responded in the manner she wished? He would never know, now, and for that he was glad. Arianna had saved his life and brought him home. Arianna had saved them all.

No, he had not meant what he said to Hyndla about his people. They were simply blind to the threats they had avoided. They had seen Gunnar’s cruelty reflected in the scars upon his chest, but did not understand what it would have meant for them, had the king lived. Had it not been for Arianna’s courage.

Arianna. Punished now for what? Her humanity? Her father’s whip? If he stripped her of her gown, they would see its marks on her body, matching his own. Might they believe in her strength, then? Or would Vanadis only call it proof that she served her father still? Too cowed and beaten to do otherwise, even after his death.

He growled at the thought. If the Vala so much as whispered such a thing, he would be hard pressed not to draw his blade and cut the tongue from her mouth. He would not stand for such insult to Arianna’s honor after all she had done.

Bolthorn?

His eyes flew open. Arianna. His heart skipped at the sound of her voice, even in his own mind. Clever woman! Was this the reason for her smile when they had parted?

Wife of mine
, he whispered back.

He felt her relief, her joy, and smiled. Yes. This had been her secret. And he had been a fool not to think of it himself, too distracted by his anger and disgust.

We’re together, still
, she said.

He laughed, all his heartache spilling away with her words.
Always.

Close your eyes, husband, and imagine me with you. Remember me with you.

It was not quite the same, for part of him knew it was more dream than anything else, but when he did as she asked, and they thought together of the times they had been most happy, he could almost feel the caress of her hand on his cheek, the warmth of her body in his arms.

And he understood then, what it meant, fully and completely as if a mystery had been revealed before his eyes. Their thoughts laughed together. More truly than he had ever realized possible.

The first crack of sunlight slid up over the crags of the mountain and Arianna stood alone outside Eistla’s hut. The Hrimthursar had gathered at the crown of the village, below the shrine, but she kept her back to them, that no one might say she had met the eyes of the Gothi. She could feel his gaze all the same, warmer than the sun she had missed so much. She sighed at the first touch of the light on her skin, and three thousand breaths echoed hers.

Even orcs prefer daylight to darkness
, Bolthorn murmured through their bond, and she knew he did not turn his eyes to the sliver of red-gold sun.
I feared you would resent me for bringing you into night, but instead you glowed all the more, putting even the elves to shame.

She smiled, watching the sun rise higher.
You gave me all the warmth I needed.

Until they had been parted. Arianna closed her eyes, and hoped he did not feel the pang of grief in her heart. She wanted to be by his side, her hand in his. She wanted to see the rime over his skin touched by orange and gold, glittering like quartz and fire. But his people would never allow it. Not enough time had passed to prove she held no power over his mind, and Vanadis still haunted them, watching, waiting. For how long?

Soon
, Bolthorn said.

She pressed her hand to her still flat stomach, willing it to swell. There had been nothing else to do but agree, and in truth it should not have made her ache so much. He was still with her. The days they spent apart, as they would regardless of the council’s fear, but the nights were theirs, thoughts woven together so strongly she could almost feel his breath on her skin, his kiss on her lips.

In Gautar, she would never have known love from her husband. As Alviss’s wife, she would have been beaten for every mistake, broken to his will. In Gautar, if the king had believed she was a witch, twisting his thoughts, she would have been burned alive for the crime. That the elders asked only this separation should have been a reason to rejoice.

But every day they did not relent, Bolthorn’s resentment grew. All he could see, she knew, was her imprisonment, and to him, it was no different than the days he had spent locked behind a mirror in a cold tower room. The elders looked more and more to him like her father, though they wielded no whip against her flesh. They did not treat her cruelly at all, and Eistla’s company and kindness was more than she had hoped for from a mother who nearly lost both her sons.

If only Bolvarr would return. If only the council could see what Vanadis had done! The Vala wanted Bolthorn disgraced and dishonored, and the longer the elders waited, the more likely it seemed to Arianna that she would have her way. They pushed Bolthorn to breaking in this. How did they not see it was so?

“Not long, now.”

Arianna stiffened at the voice. Only Vanadis could speak as though the words were song and still carry so much disdain in her warm tones.

“Tell me, Princess, do you spend your own blood in his defense? Or is this the Nykur’s magic, and you only his tool?”

“I have no magic.” She did not turn her head to look at the Vala, but she opened her eyes, keeping them trained upon the sunrise. “I know no magic but what Bolthorn showed me himself, and that all useless, for I do not know the Elvish words he spoke to persuade blackrock into burning, even if I had Elvish blood to spill.”