I nod at the basket on her arm. “Is that for me?”
It’s loaded with a wedge of Daria’s nut-crusted potato bread and a chunk of oltermanni cheese, plus two ripe, glistening sinkkaplums—those golden fruits that taste like summer got high on honey. Daria is lucky to have a tree that survived this long thanks to her glasshouse.
“No,” Val says sweetly. “I thought I’d come eat it in front of you without sharing.”
“Oho, look who thinks she’s funny.”
“I can joke,” she grumbles.
Storms. If she starts slaying me with humor too, I’m doomed.
We settle on an overturned crate, passing bread and cheese between us and chatting about our days while sunlight steams the glass panes around us. As Val finishes her last bite, she tellsme, “Daria asked if I could pick up the butcher’s delivery in town.”
“She’s trusting you more and more.”
Val shrugs, but her small smile is telling. “I haven’t spilled anything in two days.”
“Congratulations!” I chuckle. “And I’m guessing you’ll need some help hitching the mule to the sled?”
I already needed to go into town. Being able to help her and spend more time with her is only a bonus. Plus, I don't want to imagine what disasters she could meet trying to coax a stubborn mule into doing her bidding.
“Oh, yes please,” she says, relief pouring through her words. “I’ve heard tales about Tahto.”
“The legendary namesake of the Laisi Mula, yes. As stubborn as he is lazy.”
“That does not sound promising.”
I’m still grinning as we enter the stable after returning the basket to the kitchens. Val approaches confidently at first, and I’m reminded that a princess must go riding and be around carriage reindeer often enough. But her offered carrot is no match for Tahto, who merely blinks at it and shifts his weight with all the urgency of a glacier.
Val frowns. “He's broken."
“No, he’s just deeply committed tonot doing things.”
The mule lets out a heartfelt sigh of agreement, then closes his eyes and promptly falls asleep.
“Perfect,” Val mutters.
Once I step in, we get Tahto and the sled to the market with only three bruised toes between us. A miracle, really.
“He listens to you. Animals seem to do that around you,” Val comments.
“You noticed that, did you?”
“Can you talk to them?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Animals respond to me.”
Her sidelong look tells me she thinks there’s more to it.
The market square is busy with bright awnings flapping and steam curling from food carts like delicious incense. Val’s hood is up, scarf snug around her chin, but her eyes are bright as she drinks it all in. I stay close.
We’re halfway down the farm stands, passing a cart of dried herbs, when she freezes.
“That’s him,” she breathes. “The trader. Locke.”
I follow her gaze to a tall, dark-haired human in a long quilted coat. He’s inspecting a cart piled with glittering curiosities. I would never dream of approaching the likes of him. He’s a gatekeeper. He walks between worlds. Men like that don’t deal with fae like me.
But Val’s already striding toward him. No fear. No hesitation.
