Page 57 of Aryn

I glance over my shoulder at her excited expression and shake my head. “They don’t seem to want to harm us. If they did, I suspect their guard dogs would’ve already attacked.”

“Or he would’ve swung that axe,” Cameron adds, “because damn. That’s huge.”

“We’ll be better prepared for the trading post if we can get information from them,” Ronan adds from the back. “They’ll know what’s happening in this part of the world.”

Thulga shifts her weight, uncomfortably close, but her face looks almost amused as she watches us speak. “Well?” she finally demands. “Are you going to turn down my offer?” Grimhild tightens his grip on his axe.

I flash her my calmest, most disarming smile. “Of course not. We’re honored by the invitation and humbled by your hospitality.”

She tilts her head. “You’re a sweet talker, huh?”

My lips curve into something more genuine. “Just being polite.”

“Well, come on then, let’s get you inside,” she says, turning and waving for us to follow. “Mezie, go put the beasties away and toss them a steak.” The second, silent male nods and whistles, and the two zarrok lope after him as he jogs toward a barn in the distance.

Thulga and Grimhild walk side by side, and we fall into line behind them. They lead us through a gate and toward the house, which up close is much larger than it first appeared.

“You have a beautiful property here,” I say as we walk. The stone walls make it clear where new rooms and hallways have been added over time. The central house is more sun-weathered, while the further wings are darker, with far fewer rainwater gullies on the rock’s surface. Black, shimmering shale covers the roof in hand-cut shingles.

“Thank you,” Thulga says over her shoulder. “This place has been in my family for generations. We grow what we need to survive, but our primary crop is vark.” She gestures toward a field closer to the treeline, and I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. Vark is like the coffees and teas brewed by humans, rich in energy. I used to have a cup every morning, and I haven’t tasted it since I crossed into the human lands.

Thulga glances across the rest of the fields, disappointment flickering across her face before she smooths it away. “The weather has been a burden on all of us. The harvests used to be far more plentiful, but we make do. I suppose we’re lucky in that regard.”

She pushes open a wide wooden door, and a golden glow from the fire spills out to greet us. Color is everywhere. Woven rugs cover the floor in rich shades of green, blue, and yellow, while throw blankets in every hue imaginable drape over the brown leather couches. Hand-painted landscapes and portraits of items from around the farm hang on the walls. It’s far cozier than I expected, and my shoulders relax another notch.

Over the fire, a brothy soup with thick chunks of vegetables bubbles in a cauldron. My stomach growls loudly, and Thulga turns to me with a knowing smile.

“Hungry?”

“We wouldn’t want to trouble you—”

“Stop being so polite, mister…” She trails off, realizing we haven’t introduced ourselves.

I place a hand on my chest before gesturing to the others. “My name is Aryn, and this is Cato, Cameron, Taryn, Lillith, and Ronan.”

“Well, it’s great to meet you all,” she says, planting a massive hand on her hip. “But back to my question—are you hungry?”

“We are,” I admit, “though we wouldn’t want to take advantage of your hospitality. We have our own supplies.”

“Ah, nonsense.” She waves a dismissive hand, then gestures to a long row of hooks on the wall. “Hang your coats there and get comfortable.”

My body has grown so accustomed to the cold that I’m already sweating in the warm room. I peel off my outer layers, leaving me in a wrinkled sweater that’s probably a little ripe, and my tail stays wrapped around my waist underneath so it doesn’t get in the way. After a quick translation, the others follow suit.

Thulga eyes our clothing with open curiosity. “Never seen shirts like that before. Don’t spend much time in the cities, though. If you need to clean anything, you’re welcome to wash up after dinner.”

“Thank you,” I tell her sincerely, already daydreaming about the prospect of somewhere warm to bathe.

She leads us to a long, rough-hewn table made of such solid wood it could probably hold an entire army. Grimhild sits at the head, his axe leaning against his thigh as he continues to glower at all of us.

“Where’d you say you’re headed?” he asks.

“Maelithryne,” I respond, nodding my thanks as Thulga sets a giant bowl of steaming soup in front of me. “Though our ultimate destination is Lyravelle.”

“Oh-ho,” she exclaims as she continues serving the rest of us. “You really are headed to the big city. That’s a long way to go on foot.”

“It is,” I agree.

Ronan leans forward with the most pleasant smile I’ve ever seen on his face. It’s diplomatic, and I have to remind myself that his position in the military has forced him to wear this mask for most of his life. “It’s been many years since we last visited the capital,” he says. “How’s the political climate these days?”