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Ayan smiles as he rests an elbow atop Gruebin’s head. “The Dornauths sound hostile, but they’ve got good hearts.”

“Don’t say that word, or I’ll gut you right here,” Gruebin snarls, taking out his dagger and threatening to jab Ayan in the side.

The High Vale laughs and then crosses his arms on the table and studies me. “You’re not an archer.”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to prove it.” Henrik chooses a piece of bread from the basket near us before meeting my eyes briefly. “Start running—she’s better with moving targets.”

I smile, feeling those familiar flutters in my stomach.

“I didn’t say she wasn’t proficient with a bow—I simply meant she’s notmerelyan archer.”

“And how would you know that, elf?” I demand.

A lazy smile takes up residence on his lips, and he lets his eyes drift over me in a suggestive way. “You’ve got noble blood running through your veins. I’d bet my life on it.” He then jerks his head to Bartholomew. “Him too.”

“Enough about us,” I say. “Why are you here?”

Gruebin eyes Ayan with distaste. “He came running through here several months ago, with a dozen of his kinsmen on his trail, and he ended up crashing right through our ancestral burial grounds. He toppled a rare totem—”

“It was a rock,” Ayan says dryly. “A rock on a log.”

“—and busted it right in two.”

Ayan turns to Gruebin. “And I’ll tell you now what I told you then—get yourself another blasted rock. I’ll even put it on a log if that will shut you up. There was nothing special about the one I broke.”

“It was sacred,” Gruebin says, his hackles rising.

Ayan places his hand next to his mouth as if he must shield his next words from the gnome. Lowering his voice to a stage whisper, he says to me, “It was arock.”

“So, you’re working off your debt?” I ask, amused as I watch the exchange between the two. “For how long?”

The elf shrugs. “Until I get bored.”

“He’s done his time—he just won’t leave,” Gruebin grunts. He then takes a perfectly good loaf of bread and attempts to smack it across Ayan’s face.

But the elf only laughs, snatching the bread from the gnome’s hands and then taking a bite out of it. With his mouth half full, he says, “Seeing as how I don’t have anywhere better to go, I’m sticking around for now. And what can I do? They’d be lost without me.”

Gruebin mutters gnomish words under his breath and takes another squirrel skewer from the pile.

“Why were you running?” Henrik asks. “And what were your people doing this far north?”

Ayan turns to Henrik, studying him with humor. “That is the question, isn’t it?”

Henrik’s expression hardens, obviously deciding he dislikes the elf a great deal.

Ayan turns back to me and gives me a flirtatious grin. “If you’re nice, maybe I’ll tell you what I know about the happenings up here in the mountains.”

I lean forward, smiling sweetly. “If you tell us what you know, maybe I won’t cut off your hair and wear it on my belt as Maisel threatened to do to me.”

“You want to spar with me, pretty archer? Sounds like a good time.” He extends his arms, nearly smacking Gruebin in the head. “I am more than happy to oblige. I must warn you, though, I’m more of a grappler than a swordsman, and if I win, I’ll claim more than a lock of your hair. What do you think—shall we up the wager and bet a kiss?”

“Enough,” Henrik says sharply, and then he looks at me. “Ignore him; he doesn’t know anything. We’re not here to talk about his crimes—we’ve come searching for information about the aynauths, and no one here has what we need. In the morning, we will be on our way.”

“Leaving so soon?” Ayan leers at me in a way that’s oddly charming. “Perhaps your soldier friend is worried that if he lingers, I’ll steal your heart?”

I laugh out loud. “If I want to be wooed by a cad, I can find one with a crown. Why would I fall for a criminal who’s let himself be held hostage by gnomes?”

Ayan leans across the table, resting his arm between us. Lowering his voice, he says, “This isn’t common knowledge, but I’m not just a criminal.”