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Gruebin smacks his hand on the table to reclaim his audience’s attention. “The tall one there at the end says he won’t be telling the king our whereabouts if we keep the peace while they’re here. Since we don’t be wanting no trouble with Algernon, we’ll treat them with respect until we can be rid of them.” The jarl gives us a pointed look. “Hopefully, they don’t plan to stay long, as that would be a great nuisance.”

I look down at my lap, trying not to laugh. They’re hospitable, these gnomes.

The man next to Bartholomew stands atop the bench and calls out, “How about we kill them and be done with it?”

“Sit down, Cupert, you pig-nosed haigernauth. We’re not killing nobody. If this lot disappears, the king’ll be sending more into the mountains to look for them. The last thing we need is more of their kind traipsing around.”

A chorus of agreements fills the glade, and Gruebin looks satisfied. Finished, he nods toward several women and Ayan, who wait nearby with platters filled with all kinds of food—only about half of which I recognize.

The jarl then makes his way toward us. “Move down, Cupert. Let me talk to our guests.”

Grumbling that he didn’t want to sit near us anyway, Cupert and his friend leave the table and venture to the nearly empty one near the muircorns. As they sit, Cupert says, “At least the beasts don’t smell as bad as the humans.”

Gruebin crosses his arms on the table and looks at Henrik. “All right, knight—”

“Soldier,” I correct as always, pretending to scratch an itch on my cheek and smiling at Henrik behind my hand.

He gives me a stern look, but his lips twitch with wry amusement.

“You’re just a soldier?” Gruebin wrinkles his nose.

“A commander,” I assure the gnome. “One of the king’s best. And soon, he’ll claim his knight’s seal and officially become one of the king’s elite.”

Henrik looks down as if embarrassed by the praise.

Gruebin scowls at me. “Are you a songbird, traveling with him to sing his praises?”

“So what if I am, gnome? Is that any business of yours?”

He leans forward and narrows his eyes behind his heavy brows. “You’re in my mountains, so it’s my business.”

“We’re investigating the strange movement of the aynauths,” Henrik interrupts, changing the subject.

Gruebin reluctantly pulls his eyes from me. “What about the aynauths?”

“They’re wandering out of their territory, into the lower montane forests. We had assumed they were following their food source, but we’ve seen plenty of deer since we’ve been in the area.”

“The beasts don’t bother us,” the gnome says. “We’ve set up deterrents, and it keeps mostintelligentcreatures away from our village.”

Ignoring the insult, I ask, “What kind of deterrents?”

“Magic,” the jarl says as if I’m daft. “Most animals that wander too close notice a general feeling of unease and avoid the area.”

“Your people have been here for centuries,” Henrik says. “Have you ever heard of the aynauths leaving their territory?”

Gruebin shakes his head as if unconcerned. “The wanderings of the beasts matter little to us.”

“Maybe something spooked them,” Ayan says, appearing behind me. He leans entirely too close as he sets a platter of meat-like substance on the table in front of us, and his chest brushes my shoulder.

I shift away from the elf, shooting him a look.

He merely smiles as he straightens and then sits next to me on the bench, leaning his back against the table. “I’m Ayan.”

“I gathered that when your keeper hollered at you to get back to work earlier.”

He snatches an apple from the table and takes a bite, studying me. With a lift of his brows, he asks, “And you are?”

“Not interested.” I turn from him, focusing instead on the skewers on the platter. A narrow strip of meat has been threaded onto each stick, and it appears to have been cooked over a fire. It doesn’t look like squirrel, but then again, I don’t know what cooked squirrel meat looks like.