Page 13

J ulep stood back as far as she could and peered out the window. She leaned a little, confident she couldn't be seen from the outside.

The front garden was clear. Not surprising, since it was surrounded by a high stone wall lined with trees. She could see the city from the balcony, but she wasn't on the second floor. The house might have been on the edge of the city, but it was private.

Artur, who had been heading for his office, noticed her antics. He glanced at her quizzically and walked to the window to look out. Nothing seemed out of place, so he looked at her for an explanation.

She shifted uncomfortably.

“Do you need me to kill someone for you?” he asked politely.

“No!” She said instantly, and then reconsidered. “I mean...”

“Maybe?” He perked up.

She sighed.

“It's complicated? It'll take a while? Excellent. I'll order tea.”

They were served tea and snacks in the sitting room. It took her a while to gather her thoughts, but he didn't rush her.

Finally, she gathered the courage to tell the story, but it came out choppy. “I met you on the way to the inn. I had just sold all my things for a song and was in a hurry. I wanted to put distance between my hometown and me.”

This was difficult. She hadn't shared this story, and it was scary.

“Someone found out that I was selling Spill It. A goblin showed up at my house. He demanded to know where I got it. He was holding me by my neck at the time.” She gently touched her throat, remembering.

“I thought I was going to die, but I was smart enough to tell him that I got it from a man in a different village. I used to gather mushrooms near there.”

She was breathing hard. Just thinking about it terrified her.

“As soon as he left, I sold my house to the first person who wanted it, along with most of the things in it. I got the cart ready and left by nightfall. I camped in an abandoned barn that first night.”

She rubbed anxiously at her lapel. “I saw that goblin on the street today. Balding, greasy long hair, yellow teeth. He's huge.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Scary.”

“That would be Zul Kan’s brother, Hurdle. You're right to be concerned. He holds a grudge,” Artur said gravely.

Julep looked at him in terror.

He got up and sat down on the couch next to her. He took her hands and gently patted them. “Easy now. You're safe with me. I have an entire mercenary guild at my disposal and the house is well guarded. No one will bother you.”

That distracted her. She'd never heard anything about mercenaries. “What do you mean? I thought you were into pharmaceuticals.”

“I do that as well. I have several businesses.”

Really? She knew so little about this goblin who was her husband. How was it possible to run several businesses? She would have asked, but she noticed Chef Gog standing in the doorway.

He had brought snacks. He'd also clearly overheard, because he was scowling.

He thrust the snacks under her nose. “I made these,” he said fiercely. What he meant was, ‘try these now’.

Julep had never been bullied into eating. She sent him a quizzical look, but took a little tart, feeling a trifle blackmailed. The buttery crust encased a slightly sweet cheese filling topped with yellow berry curd. Despite her anxiety, her brows rose. “Mm! Good.”

He still looked grumpy, so she sent him a cautious look and tried one with black filling. Black licorice. Gross! She spit it into her napkin and quickly drank tea to flush her mouth. She couldn't say anything nice, so she said the obvious. “Sorry. I don't like black licorice.”

“Don't waste it,” Artur said anxiously, and plucked the rest of the tart off her plate. Clearly, he was a black licorice fan.

“You'll like this one better,” Gog said, and plopped a purple berry tart on her plate.

She eyed it dubiously, but sniffed it to humor him. It didn't smell weird, so she took a careful nibble. That one was much more acceptable. Jammy, with a hint of brandy, it had a toasted nut crust. “You're right. This one is much better. Thank you.”

Mollified, he left.

“You're a challenge,” Artur observed, amused. “He's never cooked for a human before.”

“Does he force feed everyone?”

“Only if he's feeling frustrated. Or if he likes you and he wants you to feel better...” Artur's brows went up in realization. “Yes, he mostly does.”

She laughed.

As she calmed down, she realized he was a little too close. She drew back to create a little distance.

He took the hint and went back to his chair, not in the least offended.

She picked up her tea to have something to do with her hands. She appreciated that he was never pushy. Of course, he didn't need to be, when he relied on charm...and possibly guile.

He was turning her idea of goblins on its head. This considerate side was new to her, and a little disturbing. She wasn't sure how to respond.

She was casting about for something to say when a servant stepped in and said, “The merchant is here, sir.”

Artur brightened. “Ah! Show her in.”

He looked at Julep. “I know summer is coming, but it's been chilly. I had some things brought for you to look at. You can have all of them or none of them. Whatever pleases you.”

“A few things” turned out to be several crates of knitwear.

There was cashmere and the softest wool, suitable for delicate skin.

The furniture was soon covered with cable knit, waffle weave and intricately patterned sweaters of Northern design.

Much of the yarn was undyed natural colors, but there was some red or gold stitching around the buttoned collars.

The wool skirts were plaid, burgundy and a delightful assortment of patterns and colors. None of them were itchy. Julep hadn't known that was possible.

“It's the fiber size,” the merchant explained. “Fine grade wool is much smaller and bends easier than the large fibers. It feels more comfortable and is priced accordingly.”

Julep frowned. “How much...”

Artur interrupted. “You're hardly going to bankrupt me, wife.”

“Besides, it's practical. Wool is warm even when it's wet, and it's surprisingly cool in the summer. I suggest you choose a couple of short sleeved shirts to test it out.” He looked at the merchant.

“She'll take one of those and that cream one there.” He pointed to two of the shirts that Julep had admired.

He'd clearly been paying close attention.

Julep scowled at him, but he ignored her. Fine! If he was going to be pushy, she wouldn't worry about the bill. Goblins! Forcing food and clothes on people.

She would have been thrilled to own any one of the fine sweaters, but ended up with several at Artur's insistence. She picked skirts, some calf length and light enough for warm weather.

“Well, I won't need to buy clothes for the rest of my life,” she said pragmatically, folding her clothes so the maid could help her carry them to her room.

Artur laughed. “Your niece would be horrified! Don't worry; I'm confident you'll feel like shopping again. Besides, the dressmaker still isn't done with you.”

Julep shook her head. “Why bother with the dressmaker? I have plenty of clothes now.” More than she'd ever owned.

“I should have known you were a woman of practical tastes,” he said, amused. “But there are some formal occasions. Occasionally, we’ll need to look impressive.”

“For whom?” She asked, unimpressed. If she'd been a dog, her ears would have been flat.

He laughed, his eyes sparkling. “Don't worry! I promise not to attend any gatherings that aren't absolutely necessary.”

His first wife had loved to be on display. An actual princess, Astazia had prized her beauty, money and power. She'd also been a notorious flirt.

He hadn't minded at the time. It had been a shallow relationship, and that hadn't been a problem. It was all about flirting, dining and waiting for her to try to kill him.

Marrying her had been the solution to a problem. There was no comparison between that relationship and life with Julep.

Julep made him smile. He relaxed with her. Best of all, he didn't have to worry about her trying to stab him in the back. If he was toppling off a balcony, she would try to save him.

It was nice, not living with a woman with murder on her mind.