“And Periwinkle deserves nice things,” I said.
A beat of silence.
“Is Periwinkle the horse?” Thyren asked.
Thyren turned back to the road, shoulders shaking. Aeldryc’s arm tightened around my waist. The corner of his mouth did that familiar thing, trying hard not to smile and failing. He kissed the top of my head. I lifted my face to his and accepted a full, open-mouthed and delicious kiss that made me lose count of my stitches.
“You’re cute,” I said, combing my fingers through his hair.
He groaned and pressed his face into his hands.
“Not at all a shadow daddy like I thought. Much too sweet.”
“I am not sweet.” Aeldryc nipped my ear before I could start listing the ways he was sweet in front of his men.
The landscape roughened, neat farms giving way to rocky hillsides and rivers brown with spring melt. Trees leaned close over the narrow road, their canopy turning the midday light dim and green.
“Sorrend is ahead,” Aeldryc murmured, his voice close to my ear. “We’ll stop at the inn for the night.”
I stashed my crochet project and sat up straighter. The road descended into a shallow valley, crossing a stone bridge before rising into a town nestled between two hills. Everything about it was built on a larger scale: stone buildings with thick walls and heavy doors in impossibly tall frames. Through a tavern window, I saw chairs wide enough for two of me. As we passed ablacksmith’s forge, a massive troll hammered a glowing piece of metal with a force that seemed to shake the ground.
“Are trolls dangerous?” I asked, suddenly worried that Sky was not okay. “Like would one of them… eat Sky?”
Oeryth burst out laughing. “Trolls are mostly vegetarian, and pacifists. More likely to bore you to death with their latest literary work than eat you.”
Thyren shook his head. “Boring? Troll prose is some of the finest in the land.”
“Finest at putting you to sleep,” Oeryth muttered. Their argument faded as we rode up to the inn, where a troll woman with tree-trunk arms and an unimpressed face watched our approach.
The innkeeper took our coin and assigned us to three rooms. A boy was dispatched for our bags.
“I’m starving.” I tugged toward the common room after we’d set our things in our room.
“You ate an apple an hour ago.”
“That was an hour ago. I’ve lived a whole life since then. I’ve suffered.”
The common room was warm, loud, full. A long communal table was packed with a mix of trolls, fae, and humans, while in a corner, a group of dwarves argued with passionate gestures. A woman in travel clothes arm-wrestled a troll and lost cheerfully. Another dealt cards to a mixed table where everyone was cheating equally.
Seeing other humans in Qoksmere was still a strange thrill, but since nobody looked twice, I clearly wasn’t the only one.
Two trolls looked up.
The one on the left was enormous: dark gray, like wet slate, with a heavy brow and a wide jaw that looked like it could crack stone. His horns swept back the way a ram’s do, and his bare arms had the kind of muscle that comes from actual work, not a gym. His hands were the first thing I really registered: each one big enough to wrap around my skull.
The one on the right was leaner, though leaner was relative. He had blue-gray skin, polished horns curving upward, a thick beard braided through with copper beads. He was, objectively, handsome. He was also watching me the way you’d watch something you weren’t sure was real, his warm brown eyes open and unhurried, taking inventory.
“Evening,” the dark gray one said. His voice was deep enough to vibrate in my chest.
“Good evening,” Aeldryc said.
“I’m Brogan,” the dark gray one said, nodding to the blue-gray one. “This is Davik. My husband.”
“Nice to meet you!” I said cheerfully, shaking each of their hands. “How do you come to be at this fine establishment?”
Davik lifted his ale. “We’re merchants on the trade route from Murkholm east. This is a regular stop for us.”
“Well, I’m Pip. And this is Aeldryc.”
