She nods. “The males, especially those of your clan, may want to know. ‘Tis important to tell the truth, Neegie.”
“He didn’t do anything wrong. It was very willing.”
She gives me a faint smile. “I know, my love,” she says, and smooths my bangs off my forehead. “I know.”
“Never could resist a strong proud cock myself,” Mag says.
To my surprise, Joanna doesn’t even snort. If Shally or Hisa had been present, one of them would have snickered, or rolled their eyes, or made some kind of remark considering Mag has been mated to AuntUlga practically her entire life. But they’re not here. Instead, I’m with Joanna and I can be just as accommodating as she is.
“Yes, Mag, that is it, exactly. Hard to resist when a male is as beautiful as Varguk.”
Mag snorts. “Well, I wouldn’t say beautiful, miss.”
That gets my hackles up. “What? Of course he’s beautiful! Have you looked at him? He has a tenderness in his gaze. His soul is full of emotion. It’s in his touch, his stance, in the movement of his shoulders. He’s wary of most people, but he’s not wary with me. Yet he’s strong as an ox, and wise as an owl—”
“I get ye, girl. I get ye,” Mag says, rolling her eyes at Joanna. “I’ve been around many moons, ye know. I’ve seen this before. ‘Tis love between the two of ye.”
“Then why would they lock him up?” I ask, my gaze flitting back and forth between the two of them.
She snorts. “Our orcs can hardly say everything is forgiven because our girl loves, right? People must be held accountable.”
“But—”
“—the Blackhearts and the West Mountains are united in this,” Mag says. “We must show alliance. My dear, you know this. It’s us against the Southpeaks because you disappeared while in Rosemary’s keep.”
“But it wasn’t by Varguk. It was his brothers.”
Mag nod solemnly. “Unfortunately, Varguk is from the same family.”
“Then his brothers should pay, not him.”
Joanna winks at me. “I’m sure. One of the kings—either Brachard or Jacovi—will ask for reparation from the Southpeaks.”
“I don’t think Varguk is a favorite son in his clan,” I say, worry darkening my voice. “I don’t think the king will trade in his favored sons for Varguk.”
Mag simply pats my hand. “Don’t you worry none. Things have a way of working out. “Tis the way of the magicks, ye know. Now come sit. Let me look you over while Joanna calls someone to bring in a bath for you.”
Great. I’m going to be bathed like a child.
As I sit in the tub, my hair unbraided and washed, Aunt Joanna brings one of Hisa’s gowns for me, which is odd because I’m sure my bags were retrieved from Creede. She brushes my hair as Mag rubs salve into the cuts and scrapes I didn’t even know I had.
“Ye can stay in Shally and Hisa’s old tent,” Mag says. “We have some males setting it up now.”
I perk up. Shalia had a brief stint as a Blackheart. She might have some weapons hidden in her wardrobe.
I’ll get Var and we’ll be far away before the sun’s first light.
“Um, sure. I’m tired.” I let out a fake yawn.
“Be sure you stay inside,” Joanna says. “We don’t need the Southpeak leaders seeing that you’re back. Not until we’re ready for them to acknowledge you were kidnapped by their clan.”
Which translates to: Not until Varguk takes the blame for the kidnapping.
Well, we’ll see who takes the blame when I’m gone. Mayhap the spoiled sons will take the fall this time. If not, both clans—Godsfire, all three—will have to find us.
It’s dark outside as I slip away, and now I realize why they dressed me in Hisa’s gown. If I am spotted, I look like one of the halfling granddaughters. No Southpeak will ever recognize me as a Blackheart.
That could be to my benefit. I slip into the darkened tent and immediately go to the wooden chest—storage for weapons—at the foot of the bed. I slowly open the heavy lid… and cringe when the hinges release a squeak. I freeze, the only sound my heavy breathing, and then peer inside.
